With Words Unspoken
by ibreak4CSI
Summary: JA - The group takes an American Sign Language class, and Jeff and Annie are partners.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** With Words Unspoken  
**Fandom/Pairing: **Community, Jeff/Annie, Ensemble  
**Note: **For 0penhearts at LJ, who wanted a Jeff/Annie sign language fic. I aimed for about 2,000 words. It got a little out of hand. :D  
**Word count: **~10,000  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Disclaimer: **I own nothing Community-related except for the DVDs that I have pre-ordered in my dreams where I roll in piles of money. I also shamelessly stole the term "hormonal meltdown" from the one and only Joey Potter, so I can't make a claim to that, either.  
**Summary: **The group takes an American Sign Language class, and Jeff and Annie are partners.

-

(Note: **Anything strictly in bold like this** is conveying the English translation of something currently being signed in ASL.)

It started like this:

Dean Pelton announced at the beginning of the new school year that common studies requirements had changed. They now mandated that while six foreign language credits was still the minimum, each student was to take classes from two or more different languages. This was applicable to everyone from seniors to freshman – no exceptions.

Greendale had received a substantial donation by an anonymous donor. Not that anyone had any idea how in the hell a person could be convinced to do such a thing. Clearly, it had been someone with more money than brains.

Regardless of how it had happened, the Dean was so overwhelmed by the news that he went into a fit of excitement and decided that the money would be used to promote _diversity awareness and respect_. His way of achieving this was to add the most "different" languages he could think of. In other words, none of the standard French or German.

In addition to Spanish, which had previously been the only option for foreign language study, Greendale now offered Mandarin Chinese, Swahili, American Sign Language, and Latin (how this made it to this list is anyone's guess, because that is not exactly going to help you appreciate and understand your fellow humans unless you're planning on dabbling in some necromancy).

When the Dean made the announcement during his "Welcome back to Greendale! Fall 2010 is sure to be the best semester ever, and here is why:" speech on the first day back, Jeff nearly chucked his backpack at the small, bespectacled man in a fit of outrage. He had put more than his usual amount of effort into Spanish 102 (not by much, but that is completely beside the point), and now it was all for nothing. Thankfully, Annie, who was sitting next to him – and apparently possessed surprisingly quick reflexes – reached out and grasped his wrist just in time. Normally, this would have yielded exactly zero effect, as Disney Princesses are not exactly known for their colossal body strength, but it gave Jeff just enough pause to remember that his brand new iPhone was in his backpack. He'd shelled out several hundred bucks for the thing, and he sure as hell wasn't going to risk destroying it. He settled for shooting a half pout/half glare at the small brunette next to him, who looked annoyingly perky for someone who had just been told that they had essentially wasted a fifth of their last semester's class time. But, well, it was _Annie_, so really, he should not be surprised.

After ten mind-numbing more minutes, the speech ended and everyone shuffled out of the stands of Boardshort Hall (it seemed the Dean had tired of being ignored when he made his speeches outside; he had made this one more official, and attendees were to be awarded a special prize – TBD, of course).

"So, which class do all of you guys want to take?" Annie asked as they made their way to the library. Annie had fallen into step beside Jeff on his right side, and Abed was on his left.

"Who said anything about taking one this semester?"

"I just…figured we'd take one of these instead of Anthropology. I mean, we were a Spanish study group, so we already have the routine down for studying languages." She looked around questioningly, met with a chorus of approving nods.

"That's true." Abed agreed.

"Assuming that we find one that fits into all our schedules, of course. Which brings us back to the question: Which to choose?"

"How about Swahili?" Shirley piped up from the back.

"I know all the Swahili I ever care to, thanks," Jeff answered.

Questioning silence.

"Hakuna matata."

They responded with a few laughs, an eye roll, a smile, and a confused glance.

"Isn't that like a bong?" Pierce inquired.

"No, that's a hookah."

"Wow, a little disrespectful of you, Jeff. I believe they prefer the term 'escort.'"

Jeff just blinked and turned back to Annie. She had tanned a little over the summer. He had not seen her in over a month – since the Fourth of July bash at Pierce's mansion, actually – and the lighting in Boardshort Hall was not really flattering to anyone. Her skin was now kind of a light, warm honey color. Jeff decided it was nice. Then he decided that his thoughts definitely should not be headed in that particular direction, and he should really tune back into the conversation.

"-don't think so," Shirley was saying. "It's supposedly one of the hardest languages there is to learn."

"My vote is for the sign language. I mean, it's just like English…but with your hands. Right? How hard can that be?" Troy voiced from somewhere behind Jeff's left shoulder.

"I have actually always sort of wanted to learn it," Britta agreed.

"And I already know the ABC's! I used to know a little more, but I'll need to brush up if we do take it. Sounds like sign language is the consensus. Anyone opposed?" Silence. "It's on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at 1. Does that work for everyone?"

Jeff glanced over at her. "How do you even know that?"

"There were stacks of class schedules by the doors of Boardshort Hall. Didn't you see them?"

At his – and the rest of the group's – negative response, Annie just sighed in a way that seemed to declare the others hopeless. "I read along while the Dean was announcing the new classes, so I know. Any conflicts? Or are we good?"

Nothing but positive comments ensued.

"Then ASL it is!"

After this startlingly efficient process and decision, they changed direction from the library to the registrar's office, and that was that.

_**Week One:**_

The first day of class was a Wednesday. Jeff took his seat in the middle, three rows directly behind Annie, who, of course, had already plopped down in her permanently reserved front and center seat.

At the precise moment the Greendale "clock tower" (Dean Pelton's recording that he now broadcasted over the intercom at hourly intervals) struck 1, the short, middle-aged blonde woman at the front of the class stood and cleared her throat.

"Attention, students! Welcome to American Sign Language 101. My name is Dorothy Granger. You may address me as Professor Granger or Ms. Granger. I don't appreciate tardiness, but overall, I consider myself a fair instructor…" Jeff's attention faded a little at this point, and he found himself staring at the back of Annie's head as she laboriously wrote work after word in her pristine little notebook. Had she cut her hair? _Good God, man._ He gave his head a quick shake and focused back in on the professor.

"…for extra credit. Any questions?"

One kid in the back asked if Extra Credit assignments would result in a mark up on their overall grade or in 10 points for Gryffindor.

A chorus of titters spread through the room (and a "What the hell's a Gryffindor?" courtesy of Pierce).

Ms. Granger then performed a sign that Jeff was pretty sure had nothing to do with ASL, but the meaning of which carried over nonetheless.

"Any more questions? No? Good. Now, I was informed that most of you probably don't have your books yet. So, today, we will simply go over the syllabus and do introductions. On page one of your syllabus, I have the breakdown of points. 20 percent of your final grade will be determined by class participation…"

On Friday, there was a picture of Emma Watson on the top right corner of the blackboard with a giant red X through it.

And the Gryffindor kid did not reappear. The hint was taken by the class, and the jokes ceased.

_**Week Two:**_

"Jeff, what did I tell you? ASL isn't just English with your hands. It has its own grammar! Were you not listening in class at all today?"

"Sure. Or maybe beating my high score on Bejeweled. Take your pick."

"_Jeff_. When are you going to start taking academia seriously?"

"I do. I'm very serious in my conviction that too much of it will actually yield physical pain."

Annie pursed her lips – to hold in a smile, he just knew it – and rolled her eyes, moving on to the next point in her notes.

Turns out, this sign language business was harder than it looked. It involved all this stuff like weird facial expressions and posture changes and, apparently, different grammar than English. Not to mention the actual signs themselves. Jeff had gotten the ABC's down pretty quickly, but numbers were a different story.

He was all good up until 5, but then things got fuzzy until 10. This whole 6-9 business was ridiculous. To start out, 6 was actually the universally accepted hand position for 3 – pinkie touching thumb, and the other three fingers up. Then on seven, your pinkie came back up, and your ring finger went down to touch your thumb. 8 was your middle finger, and 9 was your index finger. So any time someone made a 6, your mind automatically jumped to 3, and 7 and 8 looked exactly like each other if you were not given at least five seconds to mentally work it out. 9 was not too bad, really, so maybe he should amend his earlier statement.

Annie, Troy, and Abed were the best with the facial expressions (What, was there more elasticity in the skin these days? Something in the water?). Annie was not a surprise, as she had probably the singularly most expressive face Jeff had ever seen. Troy was surprisingly dedicated as he took pride in his facial flexibility, and Abed had remarkable control over his eyebrows.

Jeff personally thought everyone looked ridiculous with their eyebrows forced way too far up or scrunched so low it made them look angry instead of inquisitive. Ms. Granger said that you would lose points if you were not expressive enough, but Jeff has never put academics in front of vanity personal appearance, so really, it was all a matter of principle.

_**Week Three:**_

"Today, class, we will be practicing using our peripheral vision. I am going to place you in several groups of two, then go over what we'll be doing."

Jeff watched as the class was paired off. Abed with Britta, Troy with Pierce, Shirley with Starburns-

"Miss Edison and Mr. Winger,"

Jeff could neither confirm nor deny that something inside of him had jumped a little at his, and for the love of Clarence Darrow, how old was he, 12?

"I want you all to take a good look at the person I paired you with. This will be your partner for all in-class activities for the rest of the semester. I will switch you up for variation on occasion, but unless I specify otherwise, you all are stuck with each other. Now, stand and move to separate parts of the classroom. One pair in each corner, and one in the middle of the room." Jeff and Annie met halfway between their desks, which turned out to be smack dab in the center of the room. "Now, here's what you're going to do: I want each of you to stand one to two feet apart and look into each other's eyes. No where else, during this entire exercise. One of you will start by raising your hands, index finger extended, and drawing a shape or design in the air. The other person will use their peripheral vision to take that shape in, and then they will mimic it. Then it's that person's turn to draw. You repeat all this, switching off every time. But _never_ do I want to see you looking anywhere else but your partner's eyes."

Oh. Shit.

Those Doe Eyes were his only weakness (Okay, so maybe that was not entirely accurate, and maybe he had too many weaknesses where Annie Edison was concerned, but he didn't like to think about that). And he had not held eye contact with her for that long since the Tranny Dance last semester. Right before the drop-dead amazing kiss they had shared and then subsequently pretended had never happened. It had caused some awkwardness during the first couple of get-togethers over the summer, but they had gotten over it. Or at least gotten better at hiding it.

But this little exercise was going to be the death of that little arrangement, Jeff knew it. It was going to open up a box that should be welded shut and shoved up in the attic underneath never-used Christmas decorations for eternity.

Maybe he could switch partners.

But he glanced around the room and everyone else had already started, and how long had they been just standing there, anyway?

"I guess I'll go first?" Annie smiled hesitantly up at him.

_Thump thump_, his heart went, and _Oh, Christ_.

"Sounds good." Was it him, or was his voice a little thready?

Okay. He could do this. He was Jeff Winger. He was not going to be brought down by a 19-year-old midget in a cardigan.

Step 1: Clear throat in a supremely masculine fashion. Check.

Step 2: Eye contact. Established.

Annie took a deep breath and began to slowly trace a shape through the air. A simple square. He could do that. He drew the shape, then started one of his own.

She mimicked it, then drew a heart. This wasn't too bad. Sure, maybe his breathing was a little rapid, but it could be worse. Maybe they should try more complicated shapes. That would help move his concentration onto the task. (_Sure_ it would, Winger.)

He drew the outline of a curlicue.

Annie got a tiny indentation between her eyebrows and as she went to mimic him, she licked her lips in concentration.

And that was when the mental barrier broke.

Soft lips, softer hair, sliding through his fingers like silk. Tiny, tiny waist, so fragile beneath his hands. The way her fingers had clutched onto his shoulders. That little sound she'd made at the back of her throat when he'd gone in to deepen the kiss…_No_. Jeff clenched his hands at his side, exercise forgotten.

Leonard. Think of Leonard. Um…toasters. Robots. Zombies. Apocalypse.

Inhale. Exhale. There we go. No unsightly bulges in the classroom.

He brought his gaze back into focus, only to see that Annie's eyes had that glazed look. Her chest was moving rapidly, and Christ, he wasn't a saint. It was bad enough to suffer through this when he pretended he was alone, but-

_Nineteen. She's _nineteen_, man_.

"Annie."

Her eyelids fluttered and she gave a little shake. When she met his gaze again, she flushed head to – he couldn't see, but he was pretty sure – toe.

Her tongue snaked back out again. "Is it a little hot in here? I was just thinking it was kind of hot. I'm just gonna…" Her hands reached up to the cardigan like she was going to take it off, and Jeff flashed back to the night of debate studying and what had happened then.

"NO."

Annie paused. "What?"

"I mean-"

"Time to switch partners!"

Momentary confusion ensued and he and Annie just stood there for a moment, frozen, then turned and parted their separate ways in perfect synchronicity.

He partnered up with some kid named Hardy who was clearly high (a buddy of Micronipples?) and messed up every shape he tried.

Which was good, because Jeff probably would not have been able to focus, anyway.

_**Week Four:**_

"Annie, is that a _camcorder_?"

"Yes. Professor Granger has been doing more and more signing in class lately – last Friday, a total of almost 20 minutes. And I couldn't watch and take notes simultaneously very well, not to mention, I couldn't record her lecture for playback like I prefer to. So, this was really the only logical solution. I just had to sign a form promising I wouldn't go post any of the lectures on YouTube or something."

"Wow."

"What?"

"That's just a whole new level, even for you."

"If you mean a level of dedication to my education, then thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"But I'm taking it as one."

"Suit yourself, Melvin Belvin."

"Please. And in your mind, you probably think you're Fonzie?"

(Somewhere deep down, Jeff cringed at this. She wasn't _supposed_ to get his older pop culture references, dammit. She was _young_. She was supposed to listen to The Jonas Brothers and swoon over sparkling vampires. She wasn't supposed to _do_ Happy Days. Uggh.)

"Hey, if the leather jacket fits…"

"You're not wearing leather. You're wearing Burberry."

"But I do _own_ a leather jacket-"

"If you please, Mr. Winger? I'm trying to start class here." Professor Granger was raising her eyebrows at him.

"Right. I apologize." He flashed her a winning Winger Smile and ambled back to his seat.

_**Week Five:**_

**Ready?** Annie signed after everyone had finished eating and it was time to leave for ASL.

Out of habit or instinct, Jeff signed back **Yes.**

And then took a pause. Simple as it was, this was the first conversation he he'd had in sign language outside of studying or the classroom.

It was actually pretty cool.

_**Week Six:**_

"Like this?"

"No. You're still doing it wrong," Annie said with an amused smile. "Like this." She demonstrated.

"Isn't that what I'm doing?"

"Very much not."

"Well, how do I fix it, all-knowing one?" he asked, heavy on the mockery, because Jeff Winger is not one who likes asking for help. (Not so luckily for him, Annie was fluent in Jeff-speak, and she could usually determine what he meant from what he said, or even, more dangerously, what he _didn't_ say).

"Just flip your wrist up instead of down. No, not like that."

She instinctively reached out to correct him. The smooth pad of her thumb gently slid against the underside of his wrist as she maneuvered his hand into the right position, and a _zing_ of electricity shot through his arm right to the center of him where it radiated throughout his body (mostly south, if we're going for full disclosure here).

And if he hadn't been looking down at that very moment, avoiding her eyes, he would have missed the way her toes suddenly curled in her flip-flops.

They remained like that, her fingers laced around his wrist, his gaze focused on her feet, for a few frozen milliseconds before each jumped apart as if the place where they touched had suddenly burned flaming hot.

Jeff swallowed, but his voice still came out a little squeakier than usual. "So. Like this?" The motion actually felt much less awkward now.

"Exactly. Good job."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

"See you."

"Lates," she joked awkwardly and walked away and _Oh, bad decision, Annie_.

Because "Micro" or otherwise, Jeff should _not_ think of Annie and nipples in the same sentence, as he really did not want to be the one to prove that the path to hell can actually be paved with some pretty damn suspect intentions.

_**Week Seven:**_

"The midterm is in five days, guys. We need to get this stuff down!"

There was grumbling from all around the table.

"Jeff: In a yes-no question, do the eyebrows go up or down?"

"Up?"

"Correct."

"Abed: What is the sign for 'home'?"

Abed formed a handshape that the group had taken to calling the "squished O" and touched it to the corner of his mouth to just in front of his ear.

Annie made an affirmative noise.

She went around the table, and everyone got it right except for Pierce, who signed 'devil' instead of 'horse' (a simple mistake of the fingers being apart instead of together).

"Jeff, what's the sign for 'hungry'?"

Jeff cupped his hand into a 'C' then repeatedly stroked a few inches vertically down his chest.

Annie turned bright red and fixed her gaze firmly on her textbook.

"Um, no. You only do the action once. Oh, and it goes a little farther down, otherwise you're just signing 'wish'."

Jeff had no idea what the deal was, but Annie just moved on to Britta without telling him what sign he had done.

Half an hour later, everyone had left besides Jeff and Annie. Annie always took forever to pack up her stuff – it was no wonder; her backpack had to weigh 40 pounds from all the odds and ends she kept in it – and call it chivalry or what you will (anything other than a subconscious desire to be alone with Annie for a few minutes every week), but sometime during their last semester, he had started walking her to her car since their study group did not usually get out until at least 9 PM when they met at night. It had become a habit since then. That was all. Don't go reading anything into it.

"Out of curiosity, what did I sign earlier?"

Annie glanced up at him from the pile of flashcards she was organizing. "What? The last one? I think it was 'yes'."

Jeff shot her a look.

"Oh, you mean instead of 'hungry'?"

"That's the one."

She seemed to be attacking those flashcards with renewed vigor. "Lust."

_Oh_.

Suddenly the room seemed too small. Or out of air. Or something.

The silence stretched on too long, and his voice was a little too casual when he announced "I'm just gonna go get a drink. At the water fountain. You can meet me there when you're ready."

And he booked it.

_Get it together, Winger. It's just a word._

Yeah. Just a word that had _no_ business coming out of Little Annie Edison's mouth.

_**Week Eight**_:

Jeff had never been a particularly 'huggy' person. He did not mind them, exactly; it was more that he just very rarely initiated them. Group hugs were good; they were really more like a huddle. But one-on-one hugs were more intimate.

So when he impulsively gave Britta a sideways "goodbye" hug at the end of the semester before winter break, it was a little surprising. Although not too much so. Since they had discussed the whole "I love you" debacle over the summer, the air had cleared between them. Britta had told him in no uncertain terms that she did love him – but only as a friend. Her competitive side had come out with Slater, and that was all. It had been a relief to both of them, and though they were not necessarily closer than before, they were definitely more comfortable with each other. Ergo, random sideways buddy hugs. Back in the present, Shirley looked at him expectantly and gestured toward herself with her arms, and soon enough, he was walking down the line of his study group friends and embracing every last one of them. Britta, Shirley, Abed, Troy, Pierce…

And then there was Annie.

He plastered a strictly friendly/platonic/entirely non-Humbert Humbert-esque smile on his face and held out his arms. Were his arms always this long? Did they always feel this awkward? What the hell, they were _arms_.

She stepped forward, and he leaned down, catching a whiff of her shampoo. Something citrusy. He knew her hair would be just as soft as it had been before…then his arms were completely around her.

Jeff felt the quickening of her heartbeat, the way her fingers curled involuntarily into his shirt, the sharp but quiet intake of breath. He felt it all. And damned if he should not have been hauled to the mother country right then and awarded knighthood for not giving into a ridiculously Neanderthal instinct to toss her over his shoulder, bolt to his car, and ravish her right there in the parking lot.

Despite all of these overwhelming sensations, the foremost thought in his brain was still of their audience and the fact that this hug could be misconstrued if it lasted any longer than, well, _now_.

So Jeff pulled away.

Annie avoided his eyes.

Just as the silence started to enter into awkward territory, Pierce broke it.

"I can still expect everyone for Thanksgiving Eve, of course?"

"Pierce, I thought we agreed to just call it November 24. There _is_ no such thing as Thanksgiving Eve." Annie pointed out.

"Well, if you want to be that way about it-"

"I kind of like it," Jeff interrupted.

"What?"

"Thanksgiving Eve. It works."

Pierce looked surprised. "That's very 'streets ahead' of you, Jeff."

A chorus of groans filled the room.

Pierce glanced around. "…What?"

_**Thanksgiving Break**_

Dinner at Pierce's mansion on Thanksgiving Eve had been delicious. A few moments ago, the group had migrated toward the Plasma Room, as it had been dubbed, to pick out a DVD to watch. Jeff had stayed behind at the table, quickly finishing up a text.

Just as Jeff slipped his phone back into his pocket and moved forward to join the others, he caught a glimpse of Annie through the next doorway.

She was sipping some pink concoction Pierce's bartender (seriously, he had his own personal _bartender_) had whipped up for her.

And Jeff had no idea what he was thinking when:

"Should you be drinking that?"

Seriously, what the hell was he, her _father_, and what did he care, anyway? But he'd been a little on edge all night – no thanks to the fact that Annie had ditched her sweater because Pierce had the heat cranked up to 80 degrees, and her collarbone was _just_ peeking out from under her hunter green v-neck, and Jeff wanted to taste that little hollow so badly that it physically _hurt_.

She drew back. "Excuse me?"

"Nothing, never mind." Backpedal, backpedal, _don't do this right now_.

"No , what did you say?"

"I just said that maybe you shouldn't be drinking that. But it's not a big deal."

"I'm _not_ a child, Jeff."

"I never said you were! But you _are_ a teenager, and not old enough to do some things, regardless of how much you might want to!"

Her jaw clenched.

"This isn't about the drink, is it?"

Shit. Shitshitshit.

"Of course it is! But whatever! Go ahead and drink the goddamn thing, already, I don't care!"

He was losing it.

This was a problem.

Jeff Winger didn't _lose_ it. He _had_ it, 24/7, all the time, and he could whip out the words to convince you of that in 0.8 seconds.

"Fine!"

She spun around in those little flats of hers and stomped away, reminding him of nothing so much as a wayward child.

Which proved his point exactly.

Annie left a few minutes later, claiming that her mom had called and needed help preparing their family feast for the following day.

Jeff got a text later that night: _It was virgin. Just FYI. Jerk._

Jeff had the oddest urge to find the nearest wall and bang his head against it. Repeatedly.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Week Nine:**_

"It was only a week! How did I forget this much in a _week_?" Jeff complained after class on Monday.

"Tell me about it," Troy agreed. "What was she even saying at the end of class? Though I'm not sure I want to know since I'm pretty sure it was something about writing a paper."

The group glanced at Annie. "We're supposed to write a 3-page paper on the life of a famous Deaf person. It's due next Friday."

"That's ridiculous. And since when does she give assignments in sign language, anyway? Seems a little risky."

"Maybe it's a way to assess how everyone is doing. You know, so if you're not really paying attention and applying yourself, you won't even know about the assignment. Thus, motivation for keeping up in the future."

"Man, that's kinda cold," Troy said.

"Well, I don't _know_ why. It was just a guess."

Annie's theory was disproven on Wednesday when Ms. Granger handed out a sheet of paper detailing the assignment as well as a list of potential subjects. At study group that night, they discussed who they had chosen for the papers. (Annie had told them all in no uncertain times that they were to have someone picked out by then. And when Annie gets formidable, people tend to listen.)

"I went for classic and picked Beethoven," Annie started. "What about you, Shirley?"

"Helen Keller."

"Pierce?"

"Marlee Matlin. Abed showed me how to look her up on my podphone, and that one's definitely worth _investigating_, if you know what I mean."

"…Ohkayy. Anyway. Troy?"

"Lou Ferrigno. That guy was a badass."

"Abed?"

"C.J. Jones."

"Britta?"

"Laura C. Redden Searing."

"Jeff?" She did not look directly at him when she asked this, instead focusing on her notebook.

"Curtis Pride."

"Great choices, everyone!" Annie exclaimed with that bright smile of hers, and Jeff half expected her to whip out some gold star stickers from her backpack.

No, that wasn't sarcasm. She had actually done it just a few weeks before, when everyone had shown that they could each fingerspell their name in less than 5 seconds.

She really could be annoyingly endearing sometimes.

_**Week Ten:**_

Annie had been kind of icy toward him all of the last week, but it seemed she'd had a change of heart over the weekend. She seemed to be back to normal.

This was both good and bad.

Good because Jeff no longer felt like a pile of steaming dog crap when she was around.

Bad because he no longer felt like a pile of steaming dog crap, and instead went back to feeling things that were inappropriate because she was _Annie_ and she was _nineteen_ and he really needed to get some more reasons to add to this list.

Like the fact that her father would kill him.

The group would accuse him of taking advantage of her.

She was too young to know what she wanted. Really, how long did it take her to bounce from Troy to him?

It was just a passing infatuation, the lure of the forbidden. If they ever got into a real relationship, it would fizzle within a month. Cue intense awkwardness and impending break-up of the group. Break-up meaning that Jeff would find himself kicked to the curb as the group comforted the heartbroken Annie.

Now that Jeff had made the list, he expected some relief. There it was. He and Annie could never be together, and he had never been the pining type. Ergo, he should feel better.

Somehow, though, the stupid list just made him feel worse.

_**Week Eleven:**_

"Today, we are going to experience tactile sign language. I want you to pair up with your usual partner. Whoever's closest to me is a 1, the other a 2. Ones go first. While the twos hold out their dominant hand and close their eyes, you will sign the alphabet into the palm of their outstretched hand. Again "feelers", remember that your eyes need to be closed the entire time for the full effect. You may proceed."

Jeff really should be used to this whole 'partner' thing by now. He had even been so desperate enough to try to convince Ms. Granger to switch the partners around so he could be with someone else. She had refused. Thankfully, he had managed to talk her out of the two-page paper she had tried to force on him about manipulation and respecting your teachers after he'd asked. So at least he still had _some_ lawyerly skills left in him.

Soon enough, they were starting the exercise. Jeff closed his eyes, felt Annie's hand cradle against his own with the beginning 'A'. They slid up farther as she transferred to 'B'.

The nerve endings in his palm felt alive like never before, exhilaratingly aware of her every movement.

Jeff waged in a quick mental battle. Give in to the urge to focus every bit of his attention on the delicate hand in his, or try like the devil to force his mind elsewhere.

Jeff thought that he should probably try to ignore her. He was responding so much already, he was not sure he would be able to control his actions. Just look at what happened during the debate kiss. Clearly, an audience did not factor in when Jeff Winger had a hormonal meltdown.

And the problem was that Jeff never seemed to have said meltdowns unless he was in the presence of one Annie Edison.

Jeff compromised and decided he would pay attention to her hand, but concentrate on trying to figure out where she was in the alphabet, rather than the sensations those movements were causing.

Seriously, where was she? Was that an 'O' already? Surely not.

Then, a few seconds later, she traced the unmistakable rounded loop of a 'J' into his palm, her pinkie nail scraping _oh_-so-delicately across his skin.

One clinched fist, two layers of teeth enamel ground to dust, and seven mental bottles of beer on the wall (that were taken down and passed around) later:

"Jeff."

Jeff cleared his throat, keeping his eyes firmly shut. "Are you done?"

"Yep. Your turn! And you can open your eyes now; only the feeler has to have them shut."

"Right," Jeff said, pretending to be surprised. He let his eyes open, happy to see that Annie had already closed hers.

"Here we go," he said, unnecessarily, as she reached out blindly, groping for the hand he had not yet extended.

Taking a breath, he reached out and met her in the middle, palm to palm, not bothering with letters yet. He promptly shut his eyes again. If she was as affected by this as he had been, he sure as hell did not want to see the evidence of that. If he didn't see it, he could pretend it wasn't even there at all.

God, but her hands were tiny. The tips of her fingers barely reached his second knuckles.

Okay. Alphabet.

…._Shit_. What was 'A', again? He mentally flashed to Annie fingerspelling her name.

Right.

_Get it together, Winger._

He made it through the rest of the alphabet without incident. Then, against all the flashing red WARNING signs and alarms going off in his head, Jeff sneaked a peak as he finally traced the zig-zag pattern of the 'Z' across her palm.

Annie was standing before him, arm outstretched. Her face was flushed a delicate shade of pink, and her lips were just barely parted. She was breathing deeply.

When she opened her eyes, her gaze was unfocused and smoky. Her tongue snaked out and ran along her lower lip.

His little Annie looked as if she had just been kissed. Thoroughly. It was easily one of the most erotic things he had ever seen.

Reactions ensued that had Jeff mumbling some excuse in a voice he had only heard himself use once before ("Oh, I can get another one!") and getting the hell out of that room.

A few minutes later, Jeff decided he was going to have to take some drastic measures to get her out of his head.

Avoidance, obviously, as much as possible.

And he really needed to get laid.

_**Week Twelve:**_

"Okay, group, join up with your normal partners! We're going to start today by having a completely unscripted five minute chat with your partner. I'll walk around the room, observe, and tell you when the time is up. Just act like I'm not here. And, go!"

**Hi.** Annie said, waving.

**Hi.**

**How are you today?**

**Good. How are you?**

**Fine, thank you.** Annie returned, smiling up at him.

Right. The plan.

**Tell the group I can't go with them tonight.** Jeff signed, with only a couple awkward pauses.

Annie's eyebrows scrunched down. **Why?**

**Date.**

She seemed to draw into herself a little at that. **O-H**, she fingerspelled. **Why me? Can't you?**

…Good question.

**I have D-E-N-T-I-S-T after class.** (A lie.)

**OK.**

And, cue awkward lull.

Finally, she asked for his name, and they fake introduced themselves and had a textbook conversation until Ms. Granger said that time was up.

_**Week Thirteen:**_

"Oh, so _now_ all of you appreciate my camcorder. I see how it is," Annie cheerfully teased the group as Jeff entered the room and lowered himself into his usual chair.

"Nice of you to join us," Britta said with raised eyebrows and a pointed glance at her watch.

"I had some stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Yep, stuff. So, are we going to get to studying or what?" Jeff glanced around, but avoided looking at Annie.

"We were just discussing the video part of the final," Britta replied. "You know, how we have to turn in a video of ourselves signing a short story next Friday?"

"Yeah."

"Well, we decided we could do it during study group on Monday," Shirley jumped in. "You know, give each other pointers and feedback, then record all of them at the end. We were going to use Abed's film class equipment, but that's not allowed. So Annie volunteered her camcorder."

"Good idea." He glanced over and gave Annie a perfunctory smile, then immediately turned away.

"Okay, guys, we have a quiz over Unit 7 tomorrow, so we should probably go over the vocab list…"

Jeff went through the rest of the night on autopilot, ignoring Annie as much as possible. But still speaking to her on occasion so no one would notice anything wrong.

He noticed Abed staring at him, assessing, toward the end of the night.

Jeff would be glad when this particular study session was over

_**Week Fourteen:**_

_'Sure.'_

Two minutes and thirty-eight seconds had gone by since he pressed Send.

Two minutes and thirty-seven seconds since he had let out a chain of expletives and smacked himself on the forehead and started a frantic search of the features on his iPhone, desperate for one of them to be "unsend" and no such luck.

_'Can I come over to your place?'_ the text in his Inbox had read.

It was midnight on a Wednesday and study group had gotten out a little over three hours ago. Annie should have asleep in some twin sized powder pink bed with ruffles.

Instead, she was ostensibly as awake as he was, and he had just given her permission to come over. He had been staring at the television, half watching The Real Housewives of Greendale a monster truck rally.

This was not a good idea. In fact, this was the exact opposite: a very, very _bad_ idea.

_No shit, Sherlock._

This was not part of the plan.

Not that the plan had been such a rousing success, anyway. It hadn't worked the way it was supposed to. He had blown off his one date early. He still had feelings for Annie, and now he was just annoyed and snippy all the time and he was going back to the _old_ Jeff and maybe he didn't like the old Jeff as much as the new Jeff, and most of all, he _missed_ her. And not in an "I want to bang you" way. But in the way that she was actually his friend and he liked being around her, regardless of any inappropriate attraction he might be hiding. He didn't like avoiding her and trying to distance himself from her; frankly, it sucked.

When he opened the door ten minutes later, Jeff was surprised. Somehow, he had figured Annie would be wearing something resembling her usual outfits – skirt, flats, cardigan, little hair clippie. Instead, her hair was pulled back into a pony tail, and she was wearing dark sweatpants and a pink hoodie that said "Go, Human Beings!" across the front.

"Hi."

"Hi." _Do_ not _invite her in. Maybe she'll take the hint._

"Can I come in?"

"Sure." _Idiot._.

He opened the door wider, stepping to the side just in time to avoid bodily contact as she stepped through the doorway.

"I just thought I'd drop by," she started, as if it was perfectly normal for her to show up at his doorstep in the middle of the night.

"Any particular reason?"

"Of course, silly!" She laughed at him (albeit, a little awkwardly), continuing: "I brought your notecards for your presentation in the morning. Somehow they wound up in my backpack."

She held up said note cards after rummaging through her small handbag for a few seconds.

Jeff reached out and took them. "Thanks. You know you made a PowerPoint for me, though, so I don't actually need these, right?"

"That's not all." She said, rushed, looking at the ground.

"What is it? Are you okay?"

"Listen, Jeff. I-I know things have been a little weird between us lately. You seem…distant. And I didn't know if I had done something wrong and you were mad at me or if this was just payback for when I was mad at you after Thanksgiving, but that was a while ago, so that really didn't make sense. And I wanted to say sorry for that by the way, because you really did nothing wrong and I was just going through some things with my parents. So. Sorry."

Holy crap. She had rushed through that speech so quickly and clumsily that Jeff had to take a moment before he replied.

"Annie, I'm not mad at you. I've just been-" Jeff broke off. Okay, he could go one of three directions here.

a) Honesty: "-trying to keep my distance from you because I need to stop obsessing over this because you're too young. And all I ever want to do when I see you is pull you to the nearest janitor's closet and kiss you and do things to you that would make you moan and scream, and every day it gets harder to stay away from you."  
b) Deception: "-the same as usual. Everything's fine!  
c) Evasion: "-dealing with some personal issues. I didn't mean to make you worry."

As a) this was not a daytime soap opera, and b) Annie was an intelligent woman who understood him and would call him on his bullshit, Jeff went with option c).

She looked relieved, but still the smallest bit skeptical.

"Are you sure? I just want us to be friends. I don't want you to be mad at me."

"I want us to be friends, too, Annie. We _are_ friends. As for being normal, I'm not sure that'll never happen as long as Pierce is around, but what can you do?"

She let out a small huff of laugher and looked up at him, a smile on her lips, those doe eyes of hers shining, and Jeff felt it like a punch in the gut.

(He should know. He'd taken one for her last year before winter break when the guy she'd taken on had gotten a little over zealous.)

Her eyes started to get that _look_ and the alarm bells began clanging.

"So, was that all?" he asked, moving toward the door. Rude, maybe, but she did not need to get the idea that she was just welcome to drop by at any point in time.

"Yep. I'm glad we're good again, Jeff." Simultaneously, they stepped in for a hug – it just seemed like the perfect moment for it to finally work. Alas, it was not to be. They did that whole awkward dance thing and then stood hesitantly for a second.

Annie's mouth opened, and Jeff figured she'd say "Just pat me," in that endearing post-debate fashion. He raised his hand in preparation.

"Why are you the one who always gets to pat me?"

"What?" Jeff's hand paused half way up its (short) path to her head.

"I said, why do _you_ get to do the patting? Because you're the guy? That's so misogynistic."

"I think you've been hanging out with Britta too much. It's because I'm older. And taller. Thus, the patting falls to me in both respects."

"Whatever, it's still not fair."

Jeff rolled his eyes. "You couldn't even reach the top of my head."

"I could, too. I'm not _that_ short. I probably just look that way to you, Mr. Jolly Green Giant's Twin Brother."

"How tall are you?"

"Irrelevant." (Evasion, his lawyer's brain noticed.) "I could still reach the top of your head if I tried."

"Try me."

Suddenly, Annie seemed to be overwhelmed with embarrassment and determination, if the flush in her cheeks and the steely glint in her eyes were any indication.

"Fine."

She took a step forward and rose on tiptoe, stretching her right arm up as far as she could. Jeff caught a whiff of citrus again, and her hand rested on the side of his head. He could feel that the very tips of her fingers reached the top of his head while the heel of her hand pressed against his upper cheekbone. Sort of like a caress.

_Danger, Will Robinson._

"Here, I'll make it easier for you," he said, trying for a light tone. _Just hurry up and get this over with_.

He bent down a few inches, inclining his head. Annie made one blindly optimistic movement where she stretched up and appeared to lengthen every muscle in her body, seemingly growing taller by sheer force of will. This movement bared a tantalizing inch of pale midriff as her hoodie rode up.

Jeff felt the breath tighten in his lungs.

Annie reached her goal, giving him a couple slow pats on the head. He waited for her to remove her arm. Slowly, she did, sliding her hand slowly down to where his shoulder and neck joined together, letting it rest there.

No, _that_ was a caress.

Jeff looked at her. At those doe eyes, so wide and innocent, and he could tell she hadn't even meant this as a come-on in the beginning. But she didn't mind that it had turned into one.

Come to think of it, he didn't, either.

But he should.

"Annie." Christ, he sounded like he was hanging from a rope. He cleared his throat, deepening his voice for effect. "Let go."

"Okay." Her hand slid away obediently, but her feet stayed put.

She looked like she had on the night of the Tranny Dance. Seizing the moment, then waiting for his reaction. Waiting to see if he would kiss her, clearly wanting him to.

But he shouldn't. _They_ shouldn't. It was wrongwrongwrong_wrong_-

The right side of her mouth turned up just the slightest bit, hopeful.

_Oh, fuck it._

Jeff leaned down and captured her lips with his own.

Jeff Winger had never been a saint, never been a martyr. He had been notorious for his _lack_ of self-sacrifice. So, really, he should be awarded some kind of medal for lasting this long.

As he moved his lips across hers and her hands came up to his torso, Jeff could feel that it was different this time. He had known it would be. Because this was not an action that could be blamed on something else and classified as a "tactic" resulting from a super-competitive streak and a desire to win a debate, or a "reaction" to emotional confusion from break-ups and sudden confessions of love.

This was just a kiss.

And God, but it was a good one.

She sighed into his mouth, something like _finally_, and he was moving closer, closer, closer still, until she was shoved up against the cushioned arm of his oversized couch. The hair tie was the first thing to go, flung off into the unknown as Jeff pushed his fingers through her thick, silky hair, cradling her head, angling her to _just_ that place where they fit perfectly. He felt her body hum in approval, pressing against him in a way that no sexually repressed teenager should.

He felt her fingers inch up just underneath his shirt and lightly skim along his abdomen. _Holy-_ He emitted something like a growl in response, deepening the kiss, his tongue delving through her lips to taste her. She was right there with him, shyly touching his tongue with her own. Somehow retaining a bit of sanity, Jeff reached down and moved her hands back up to his shoulders – if she kept pulling stunts like that, this was going to escalate a hell of a lot faster than was safe for either of them.

Jeff was drowning. He was drowning in her, and he didn't even care. He breathed in everything Annie, devoting himself to memorizing it all. The feel of her lips, the softness of her skin, the way her hair slid through his fingers, the incredible sounds she that she couldn't control when he did something that particularly affected her. When he reached down for her hips and pulled her to him, the soft moan she made in the back of her throat was so sexy he felt his reaction all the way down to his toes, not to mention other places in the southern vicinity of his body. Then she must have slid partially onto the couch because her right leg was hooked around his, and he hitched her a little farther up against him, and when she rocked the tiniest bit in response, Jeff felt like he was going to burst into flames.

When the need for oxygen became so intense that it transcended his need to feel Annie's lips beneath his own, Jeff broke the kiss and instead started kissing sporadically down her neck as he gasped air in and out like he had just run a marathon. He had a vision of her collarbone in that shirt on Thanksgiving and became obsessed with the need to see it, to taste it, to discover if it was as sensitive as it looked, and maybe she would pant or whisper his name, but her stupid hoodie was in the way, and he couldn't tug it down far enough.

He would have to pull it off.

This was the moment that reality came back into focus with a bang.

_Fuck._

"Annie," he said, trying to sound rational and under control (when he was actually _this_ close to tossing her down on the couch, consequences be damned), as he stepped back from her. "Annie, you should go. Shit. Sorry, I- . No, I mean-. _God_." He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force some blood back up into his brain so he could formulate coherent thoughts. "It's just that-"

"I'm going," she interrupted, hopping down off his couch, grabbing her bag from where it landed on the floor, her hair tumbling down around her shoulders and framing her face. But this time, she didn't smile at him, "What do you think?", she avoided looking him at all as she beat a path to his door, mumbling "Night." as she pulled it shut behind her.

_Shit._, he thought again, collapsing onto the sofa.

He slapped his hand against his forehead, letting the momentum force his head back against the giant cushions, a gesture Abed had referred to before as a _facepalm_.

This was going to be a long night.

_**Week Fifteen:**_

"But you see, this way you'll be practicing both your ability to take in signs, as well as your ability to produce them!"

"Which is just a fancy way for saying 'more work.'"

They had pulled another "Mutual Avoidance" act, a la post-Tranny Dance, so things had been a little tense between them lately. Enough so to cause the group to comment on the issue.

So, they had come to the unspoken agreement to pretend to act normal. At least, Jeff was pretty sure they had. That had been his interpretation. So far, it seemed he'd been right.

"Jeff, this is the most efficient way to study. You don't want to flunk, do you? And retake the class on your own?"

**OK. Fine.**

Somehow it was a little easier to concede to her if he didn't actually say the words out loud.

**Good**, Annie signed back, then she moved on to the blonde at his right. **You start.**

Britta directed her gaze at Abed. **Y-E-L-L-O-W.**

**Yellow.**, he signed back, his right hand forming a Y, then shaking a couple times.

Abed looked at Jeff. **S-H-I-R-T.**

Jeff signed **Shirt** back at him. He turned to Annie.

**D-A-N-C-E**

**Dance.** she signed back.** H-U-G**

**Hug. S-T-O-P**

**Stop. W-H-Y**

**Why. Y-O-U-N-G**

**Young. K-I-S-S**

Jeff paused. Then, **Forget.**

**Never.**

**Should.**

**Why?**

**…F-E-L-O-N-Y.**

**19.**, and as she performed the simple sign, her eyes flashed fire.

**Old.**

**Shut up.**

**No.**

**Outside?**

**Can't.**

"Hello, you two?" Jeff was ripped out of this silent argument of sharp gestures and wire-tight tension. "Some of us haven't had a turn yet. We'd like to pass, too." Troy pointed out impatiently from the opposite end of the table.

"Yeah. Right. Sorry about that." Jeff cleared his throat, suddenly feeling the need to get out of this chair and go stretch his limbs. Go for a walk. Take a cold shower. Whatever. He needed to do _something_.

"What were you two saying, anyway? I got lost after 'young'," Shirley said.

"Me, too." ; "Same here." ; "I was streets behind, I'll admit it."

Abed just sat there silently. Jeff had the unfortunate feeling that he had caught every word.

_**Week Sixteen:**_

Annie cornered him an hour after the ASL final (which he felt pretty certain was high B material). She reminded him of the way she had looked commanding him to come to her La Danza De Los Muertos party the year before, all determination, failure not even a remote option.

"Jeff, we need to talk about this," she said, taking his arm and dragging him to a fairly secluded corner outside. It was cold, and Jeff watched as tiny flurries floating down from the sky and landed in her hair.

"I thought we agreed-"

"_We_ didn't agree to anything. _You_ decided that at avoidance would be the best option. As usual."

"You were avoiding me, too!"

"I was holding back. Seeing what you would do."

Jeff had nothing to say to that.

"So?" She waited, expectantly.

He sighed. "Have you ever seen _To Catch a Predator_?"

"No. But I've read _Jane Eyre_."

"Which was written in the time when arranged marriages were the norm. I don't think that's anything to go by."

She paused, changing tactics. "What is it that you want, Jeff?"

"For one, you to be old enough to legally visit a bar."

"What, so it's just because I'm not 21?"

"No, I-"

"Because I've been through more than almost anyone has by that age. I'm not a child."

Jeff looked at down at her, running a hand through his hair (Great, now he'd have to check it next time he walked by a mirror, damn those nervous habits, but hello, this was not what he should be focusing on right now). "I know. Trust me, I know."

"Then what's the problem?"

"Seriously? If I have to start reeling off the list then maybe you're a little more naïve than you think you are."

Annie shot him a look. "Of course I know there are issues. But is there any reason, any _real_ reason, besides your ridiculous hang up about my age, that only involves us? Because no one else should factor into this."

Jeff prepared to go into his whole 'It's really just an infatuation, the lure of the forbidden, and it will fade quickly,' speech when he realized that he actually didn't believe any of it. Nor had he ever, really.

Instead, honesty spilled out. "…I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm a big girl, Jeff," she said quietly. "I know it's a risk. But that's a risk in any relationship. You weren't concerned about that with Slater."

"Slater was different."

She stared at him understandingly, her lips curling up in a soft smile. "Because Slater wasn't me?"

"You really should stop doing that. It's kind of scary."

"That I have this much insight into your brain?"

"Yes."

"Sorry about that."

"No, you're not."

The air was light between them, finally. No more unsaid feelings clouding the air with tension.

Only one question remained: What about the next step?

Jeff suddenly wasn't sure how to take it. He had asked dozens (and dozens) of women out before. This should be the easiest part.

But, as she had pointed out, other women were not Annie.

Jeff opened his mouth, then closed it. What should he say, exactly?

He caught a glimpse of Ms. Granger a few yards away, walking to her car.

And all at once, he knew what to do.

**Do you want to go on a date with me tonight?** Jeff signed. He even did the full-fledged eyebrow thing.

Annie grinned. **Yes.**

Maybe this didn't have to be so complicated after all.

_**December 23**_

Two weeks after the semester ended, the group got together at Pierce's, which had essentially become their default location outside of GCC.

They were in the middle of making fun of some movie with Tom Selleck and killer robotic spiders when Jeff suddenly stood, declaring that he needed more popcorn.

"I'll show you where it is," Annie remarked, hurrying after him.

"That was weird," Pierce said a moment later, holding up a half-full bag of popcorn. "I have more right here."

"Maybe he likes it fresh?" Shirley suggested.

Pierce opened his mouth to speak again, most likely to put a perverted twist on Shirley's words, but Abed beat him to it.

"You know, in season 5 of Friends, when Monica and Chandler disappeared for weird reasons, it was because they were actually sneaking around, having sex behind the other Friends' backs."

"Jeff and Annie," Troy laughed. "Riiight."

When the pair returned eighteen minutes later without any popcorn – Jeff caught Abed mumbling something about lack of continuity and being sloppy – the group accepted Jeff's hastily fabricated answer that he and Annie had gotten distracted by their own conversation and eaten all the popcorn before they realized how much time had passed.

Jeff and Annie sat back down in their respective places on the leather couch and watched Tom Selleck chase down the guy that controlled the bloodthirsty mechanical arachnids.

And _maybe_ it was dark, so _maybe_ his hand found its way to her thigh, and _maybe_ they rushed out a little too soon after the movie was over.

But if asked later, Jeff would neither confirm nor deny these events.

_**Later that night**_

"Ouch!" Troy yelped.

"What's the matter?" Pierce asked, peering into the Plasma Room from the hallway.

"Oh, I tripped over Jeff and Annie's popcorn bowls..."

Troy stared at the bowls for a good five seconds, his brows lowering.

"Pierce?"

"Hmm?"

"If Jeff and Annie went to make popcorn, and didn't come back with any, why are their bowls still in here? Unless…do you think Abed was right?"

Pierce thought it over for a moment. "Way to go, Jeff!"

"Ooh, this is wrinkling my brain," Troy said, lowering himself to the recliner.

"Forget the wrinkles, this calls for the podphone," Pierce said as he whipped the object from his pocket and held it up to his mouth. "Call Shirley."

* * *

Three minutes (twenty-two "Call Shirley"s and one "For the love of God, Pierce, just use the buttons!") later, Shirley's ringtone – a classic version of "Little Drummer Boy" – filled the minivan as she pulled into her driveway.

She answered. Pierce spoke.

"Holy macaroni with pepperjack," she breathed.

* * *

"Britta, it's Shirley. You'll never guess what Pierce just told me…"

"I knew it!" Britta exclaimed, pounding the steering wheel.

* * *

Abed's phone was dead, so he missed out on the gossip chain. His thoughts revolved around the fact that he was definitely right to have upped the rating of his last film.

* * *

Jeff and Annie were both happily oblivious to their frantically buzzing phones in the living room, having already made it back to his bedroom and resumed their previous activities.

_**11 AM, The Next Morning**_

After breakfast, showering, dressing, and delaying the inevitable, Jeff finally checked his phone. "Thirteen missed calls. You?"

"Fourteen. My mom called once."

"I guess it's time to face the music, then." It was a statement, not a question.

"Guess so."

Silence reigned.

"Well, there's no time like the present, right?"

Jeff took a deep breath of preparation. "Absolutely. Off we go."

Annie grabbed her purse, and Jeff slid his wallet into his back pocket.

They met in front of the door.

"Milady," he said, offering his arm.

She took it with a smile. "Milord."

_**The End.**_


End file.
